Whore Wars

Title: Whore Wars
Time Period: January 11, 135 A.E.
Characters Appearing:

Summary: Luna's a bitch when she thinks people are trying to hurt her on purpose.

It has taken a lot longer than making tea and toast should for Mariah to get back up from the kitchens to Luna's stairs. Her cover story, for the moment, comes in the form of a much more elaborate breakfast. Toast is there, as it tea made with Luna's favorite herbs, but so are eggs and fruit and so on, like Mariah assumed the other girl would want more by the time she actually got back.

There's a knock on the door as a warning before Mariah just lets herself in. She's still in just her robe, but she's apparently not feeling too cold, despite it being winter. "I hope you're hungry," she says in greeting, "I may have gotten a little carried away down there."

One pale hand rises toward Luna's face, pushing up the satin sleeping mask she's decided will be her companion today. It's lavender in color, with contrasting creamy lace to match the shapeless chemise that she's usually in after she's finished entertaining or bathing. "Hhnnnggh?" She's slow to wake. Bleary eyes and slow moving muscles signal a good night for the blonde.

"Mariah, what are you doing here?" Someone forgot she was getting breakfast. "What is all of this?"

It's cold in Luna's room, lack of fire in the rest of the house means no heat in the attic. The steam rising from the tea cup curls into whips before it disappears and it is that sight that Luna is caught on. "My tea?" Made with her herbs, she means.

"Yes, your tea," Mariah says with an amused, crooked smile as she comes straight over to climb into bed as well, with the tray of food set down on the surface as well. As precarious as that might be. "So wake up. There's food, too, you know."

Blankets are tucked over her feet, because is it a lot colder up here than it it in the kitchens. "I can't believe you fell asleep while I slaved over a hot stove," she says, teasing, although there is a red mark across a palm that at least proves she did the cooking herself.

The cup is lifted gingerly with both hands and held up to her nose as the wisps lick at the edge of her nostrils. "Mmm," she moans sleepily, not letting her current disposition stop her from enjoying a sip or two. "I was awake all night." Not that Mariah couldn't have been but it's obvious that Luna doesn't hold her lovers to a high standard compared to her own. "You were probably sleeping." Then the cup is placed to the side.

Picking up a triangle of toast, she reaches for the eggs and pokes the corner in to test the yolk. When it doesn't spill all over, the blonde pulls the plate into her lap. "You always remember my favorites, I don't know how you do it. And fruit…" The egg is piled onto another one of the triangles and smooshed all over as a spread.

Mariah doesn't answer on the topic of whether or not she slept; as is her custom, she's pretty tight lipped about her client's habits. There's only a knowing tint to her smile that shows that she heard the assumption. "You should learn to manage your time better," she says with a deepening of her smirk, "We have to head into town today. I want to get a new coat." Her favorite is still sitting in her closet with an unsightly rip that would require an unflattering patch to fix.

"Of course I remember, it's only been years, Luna," she reaches for a slice of toast herself, but that seems to be all she's after for herself.

"Mariah," Luna's lament of the other woman's name is complete with the dramatic toss of her head against the thick pillows. Blonde hair fans out against the crisp linen while the back of her hand just touches against her cool forehead. "I have a temperature, I can't go out today. My nerves are frazzled. What if I can't manage the market? I'll expect you to find me a proper escort back home." To her herbs.

Even with a supposed fever, Luna manages to finish her triangle of toast and most of the cup of tea, the end of which puts her in a much better mood. "I think you should get a sturdier thing with all the brutes you consort with. Perhaps one of those thick woolen ones that I've seen some of the militia wear. I bet one of your men could get the name of their supplier."

"Oh, you do not have a temperature. You're fine. And you know you want to go look at the dresses," Mariah says, her tone a bit singsong there. "I'll have you know, I know many a proper escort in town, should the worst befall you. I promise no soldiers or stable hands. Maybe a sailor." She's teasing!

"Oh, stuff sturdy. I like prettier things. I'm going to take my old coat to the seamstress and see if she can't salvage a corset out of it or something." She looks over at Luna, though, a bit of a frown on her face, "Just because I take on the rougher sort as clients doesn't mean that's my taste, you know, Luna."

"What's wrong with sturdier things? Isn't that one of the things you like about— " Luna clicks her teeth and gives Mariah a look of pity, "But he's not so sturdy but he's not fancy either. You'll have to get a coat that matches your beau. What sort of fabric could represent Cas Blackburn effectively? Wool is too rugged and sturdy, perhaps some burlap?" She's teasing as well, maybe. There is a glint of merriment in her eye.

"I'm partial to fur lining, if you can afford it." She nods toward her wardrobe, though the doors are shut and locked Mariah is well acquainted with its contents. "You know my special cloak, the cream colored one with the ermine fur. It took me weeks to find, you have to wait for the exact right ship to come in."

Mariah sputters just a little at something in what Luna says, and she has to set her half-eaten toast back on the tray before she actually gets a response out.

"My what?" There's some incredulity there, like she just can't believe what she said. And this is a girl that handles Luna's various outbursts with ease. "He's a client." She's insisting on that. The matter of clothes seems to have been forgotten, despite the fact that Luna carries on with it.

"Client, yes, client…" The plate is moved to the night stand and Luna inches toward the edge of the bed. The small scootches and digs of knuckle to mattress seem to take too much out of her, energy wise, and when she finally dangles her legs over the side, she's forced to hang her head between her knees. "For a mere client, you seem to molly coddle him worse than a baby. How embarrassing having him crying like a child in the hallway. Is it because he's not really a man? Is that why you carry the tender torch for him?"

"Luna, you're being ridiculous again." Again. Mariah gets her dry tone back in place, and she starts to get up from the bed. "I have gruff clients, you insult them. I get a nice one and you insult him, too. And! And hurt him, too. Has it ever occurred to you that I don't care to live by the same standards you do?"

It's always been a little difficult to tell if Mariah was bothered by Luna's opinion of her clients, but this time the upset is clear as her hands fiddle with the tie around her robe. "If I recall, you needed your rest." Her arms fold across her torso, too, her lips thinning as she looks back to her friend.

"He came at me! How was I supposed to know that he wasn't going to throw me down the stairs or cut me or something worse?" Lifting her head, Luna smooths her hands down her thighs and gets out of the bed. The tea has made her a bit wobbly but she manages to get to the wardrobe well enough.

"I do but I can rest later, for now you need something pretty to wear." The key is produced from around her neck and the closet opened wide. Dresses and shoes nearly spill out of it but a few clever jabs with her knee keeps everything inside. "Have you decided on something already or are you going to see what's available? I don't recommend that, you know, they'll never give you anything good as long as they can sell you the worst at high prices." Something they both probably learned from their fathers.

"Because he's not like that! Not every single one of my clients is violent. And because it's a little paranoid to expect so!" Mariah watches Luna walk across the room with a furrowed brow, not ready to unfold her arms just yet.

"I know how to handle the haggling, Luna," she reminds, and takes her turn at eye rolling. "But I haven't decided. But I know I want something green." Her other coat was more muted, rich browns and hints of deep, dark red. "I haven't been around in a while. I'm not even sure what they've got there these days." After all, the Dovetail is pretty well full of clothes. Especially this room.

"A rich green velvet with a bit of red fox for a trim? That sounds lovely, if you don't buy it, I know I will. I'm due for something new, everyone's already seen all of my other things." Pulling one of Slainte's older dresses from her closet, she presses it to herself in the mirror and twists to each side. "I haven't worn this one, what do you think? I like the shade of raspberry and I think I have the perfect cream colored lace to go with it."

The dress is tossed onto the bed while Luna digs out a pair of boots and a cloak that will match it suitably. What she decides on is a dark brown woolen thing that looks more functional than fancy, until it's turned over and the back is a wild pattern of gold embroidery made to look like autumn leaves. The boots are brown and plain, something she doesn't mind since her footwear is barely ever visible. "Beisdean said you could have some of her things too but I think you already got the best part of her, aye? When you visit him in his room."

When that dress comes out, Mariah's expression turns sullen. She steps over to the bed to finger the sleeve idly, no doubt remembering it's original owner, rather than really ruminating over the dress itself. "It's lovely," is what she ends up saying, in the end.

She looks over at Luna at her next words, though, and just looks for a long moment. She doesn't argue on the matter of being in Beisdean's room; repeating herself is never something she's been a fan of. So instead, she spreads her hands wide, "If you wish to hoard Slainte's things, Luna, I suppose I can't stop you. I'll see you after my errands," she says, a rather sobered goodbye, and then she turns to head for the stairs down.